Overpaid Penguin

Q: What do you think of Sidney Crosby's point streak?

A: Hey I know him! My brother dylan never shuts up about him. But I don't pay any more attention than that. He's a hockey player. Big whoop - I'm a princess. But one thing I don't understand is why he makes so much money. He skates around (who doesn't??) slapping a rubber disk in a mesh net with a slim piece of wood. Anyone can do that!! Maybe he just hits it really hard, but what's so special about that? How good could he possibly be? Mom was sitting with dad the other night when he was watching hockey and she definitely did NOT like Sidney's "stache" as she called it. What is that anyway, his purse?

Anyway, she said it was just silly. My dad said he made about $9M last year just playing hockey, but he made tons more "smiling for the camera." So what?? I have lots of money in my piggy bank AND I'm going to work at Claire's when I get older.

Anyway, back to his point streak. All I can say is whoopdeedooo. Can he shovel the driveway like I did with dad when nobody else would? Do that Sidney. Dad didn't even ask me to help him. I bet if I called you to come help the other day, you'd say something like, "Oh, I can't right now, I'm busy making money and I'm just sitting on the couch." Whatever Mr. Point Streak. Dad didn't even pay me to help him. Well, he did take me to Tim Horton's after and bought me a cheese croissant because apparently I had too many Skittles prior to that. But whatever. My point is: I could probably outskate you any day.

Dylan could deek you for sure too - he's dad's favorite hockey player. Slap a picture of a penguin on your helmet and you think you're the best hockey player in the world or something.

Whatever. Here's a commercial of Sidney Crosby:

Snow Storms Go Away!

Q: What do you think of winter storms?

A: Winter storms are like a breath of fresh air. And fresh air is like torture. And torture is like a winter storm. What's the use even pretending that you like snow storms? To be honest, I can't stand people that say they like snow any day of the year. They are just trying to make you think that torture can actually make them happy no matter what. They buy pretty winter gloves and fun crazy carpets to make themselves believe that storms are okay. They say and believe ridiculous things like: "I love being out in the storm - it's like I'm one with nature." This is translated as: "Oh let's frolic in the snow and by gosh while we're at it, let's go outside and stand in the blinding snow storm until our fingers and toes fall off."

JFTR: I don't even like snow on Christmas day. If dad would get his priorities straight we could move to Dominican Republic and I could open a Clare's store there for all the Dominican girls. I'd have my own hair bead business, which has NOTHING to do with winter storms - are you starting to see the picture??? Even my older weirdo brother thinks the snow is one big field operation. What does he do the day after Christmas? He gets dressed in his BB gun paraphernalia and convinces a couple of Yes-Men that torture is fun - so out the door they go leaving dad wondering why the heck they whine about the inside of the house being so cold when it's only minus 46 degrees outside in a snowstorm like that one on the Star Wars movie where Luke Sky-Walker cuts the stomach of the monster open to stay warm.

This guy feels the same way about winter storms as I do:

Merry-Monopoly Christmas Everyone!

Q: How was Christmas?

A: It was great for me, but dad and my brother Dylan didn't like it so much. That was mostly because they both lost a Monopoly game that mom and dad bought for my 7-year old brother. It's really cool, with an electronic banker and debit cards to use rather than paper money. My brother Dylan was the banker and he loved it, but when he and dad lost all their property to Evan (the 7-year old), they were not impressed. They used all their bargaining tools that they could think of, but Evan the tycoon prevailed and dad and Dylan BOTH went bankrupt. Dad couldn't believe he landed on one property and had to pay Evan $10,000,000. Dad said Evan kept landing on Community Chest EVERY TIME and would NEVER land on dad's property. PLUS, Evan owned a whole quadrant and Dad and Dylan landed on his highest paying properties every time they passed him by. Evan was really excited!!! And they played for over 4 hours!!

Mom kept walking by and rubbing dad's back whenever he'd lose money and kept telling him not to take it personally. But dad couldn't keep his cool after the 5th time he had to pay Evan $5.5M.

So the next time mom tried to rub his back in support, dad pulls away and says, "What have you been doing for 4 hours anyway?" And mom says, "Cleaning up, watching TV, and happy that you're spending time with the kids!!" And dad says, "You mean you're happy that you don't have to feel guilty that you're NOT!!" And mom didn't even give him the time of day, except to smirk at him as if all he could do was lick his wounds and muster every ounce of positive energy within to tell Evan he did a great job!!

Evan totally rocked today. Dad wants a rematch tonight, but Evan said it will take too long. Dad and Dylan aren't happy about that because they want to kick his BUTT!!!

Maybe next time boys. Mr. Trump, we have your apprentice.

Anyway, my Christmas has been good, and I got a really nice present from my friend I :)

The Adopted Mathematician

Q: What do you think of having an adopted brother?

A: WHAT??? HE'S ADOPTED??? Why doesn't anyone tell me these things? Which brother is adopted??? Does he even know? How will he turn out? Will he have an identity crisis? Do my parents know? What will he do if kids tease him? How will he handle the news that he is adopted if he doesn't know??? Will he get as many Christmas presents as me if everyone finds out? Will he be able to get his license when he grows up? What if his real parents try to find him? Does he need braces? If so, would he be covered under my father's health plan? If not, don't even go near my piggy bank. Will his arms fall off later in life or something? Oh no, even worse, will he make it to heaven??? Or does he go to adopted heaven with an adopted god that truly understands? Someone answer me before I unravel!!!

Just kidding. Yes I know he's adopted, and so am I for that matter. And we both live with our "real" parents. To answer your question, I think he's the best thing that ever happened to me :) Dad if you're reading this, I just said that in case he reads this. Hoo loves ya?

Adopted or not, he's my brother. And as much as he drives me crazy, someday he will win the Nobel peace prize because he's really really really good with math. So, you gotta' love him - he'll be your boss someday.

Stund-a-mundo

Q: Why do girls like dolls?

A: You must be related to the guy on that spaceship show with the pointy ears. He has absolutely no emotion whatsoever. I am almost certain that if you placed him in front of a Barbie house, he'd have no idea what to do with himself. He'd analyze Barbie into oblivion. I'm sure you'd do the same. Why do girls like dolls? That's like asking why do boys act stunned all the time?

Or why do parents always say they don't have money when we're in the toy aisle but then spend some at the cash register for ridiculous things like toilet paper?

Come on. Really? Besides, dolls have more personality than anyone I know. And they listen to whatever I tell them to do.

On the other hand, if I put myself in my brothers' shoes, put on safety goggles, run outside with a Nerf gun and attempt to annihilate the neighborhood, that would be akin to dragging myself through shards of glass and iodine.

Every time my brothers run outside in full gear, I feel sad for them because their poor brains have nothing going on except a vision of dancing cows in a field mixed with background carnival music.

At least Barbies are interesting.

Tired Taxi Drivers

Q: Why do adults get tired all the time?

A: It's more like "Why are your dad's eyes blood-shot most of the time?" I have no idea. Mine are always white, and I only get 13 hours a sleep every night AND I have to go to gymnastics twice a week for 6 hours. I'd like to see dad do a backwards walkover on the balancing beam just once. He watches hockey every now and then...how many breaks does he need anyway? He's always tired. And mom always gets headaches becasue she says she's "fatigued"...what's wrong with my parents? It's not like they're the hardest working parents in the world.

All we do is hockey, band, youth group, hip hop dance, gymnastics, drama club, Silpada Jewelry, writing for computer magazines, tech. support for the province, run 2 charity organizations, volutneer at the soup kithcen, sell choclate bars for every activity we do, and dad works night shifts sometimes and drives us everywhere we need to go and so does mom. I'm too busy playing with Barbies most of the time, but even my Barbies are busier than they are.

I think adults get tired all the time because they need more to do.

Idle minds breed tiredness. And stop complaining all the time will you? I don't know what I'll do if dad calls his car a taxi one more time.

Dreaming of an Artificial Christmas

Q: What are your thoughts on christmas trees?

A: What's with the Christmas questions? Sheesh. Well, my thoughts on Christmas trees are all well and good if you're not the kind of person that puts their Christmas tree up on November 11TH!! My mom's friend puts her tree up so early in the year, her husband is still cutting the grass!!

My mom and dad put the tree up yesterday, and they were both saying how they ALREADY can't wait to get the tree out of the house. But this year is different, dad says, because he bought an artificial tree from Costco. He was so excited, he was telling mom about all the good reasons to have a "fake" tree (as he kept calling it): no mess, no water, no chopping, no freezing when picking it out, no hassle with strapping it to the van, etc. The tree even came pre-lit! It's his personal Christmas miracle. But do you think mom would give him the satisfaction and let Christmas go by without a traditional tree fight?

It's always been a riot watching mom and dad put up the tree in the past. Dad hauls the tree in, places it in his gazillion dollar tree stand that he thought would last forever but is already missing most of its parts, and mom stands back and tells him which screw to tighten so the tree straightens the right way while dad's upside down trying to twist the bent screws and mom's yelling at the boys who are singing Alvin and the Chipmunk Christmas songs WAY too loudly while they are supposed to be getting the ornaments ready for the tree and dad's trying with all his might not to crank at mom who is much too fussy about tree straightness but her back feels just fine all the while.

Anyway, by the time they get the tree standing still, my brothers are already off to college and MY hair is going gray. Then mom, like a sweet kindergarten teacher, tells all the kids to get all the ornaments on the tree. Now if you know my mom at all, you know that she likes order. So why then, lord of Christmas trees, does she ask 3 numbskull boys to hang breakable Christmas ornaments on a crooked tree? Holy Christmas - she's nuts. Guess what happens? My youngest brother hangs half of them at his level (he's a bit short) before mom finally notices, while the other 2 boys are still singing like ridiculous chipmunks who can't place an ornament in the right place if you pay them $1,000,000 dollars to save their useless lives. You should see them right about now...they're laughing so hard they're almost peeing their pants, and Dad's STILL laying on the floor trying to get the tree straight while mom's working herself into a lather of anger because her vision of stockings being hung by the chimney with care have totally been wrecked by a husband that can't do the 1 job that she asked him to and she has 3 singing baboons that are too stunned to pick up on her emotional instability!!!

Right about now I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones that that old guy sings about in that old slow Christmas song that my uncle Dean always plays to death. I bet that old guy never had a fake tree in his fake life.

By the way, if you ever want to know what it's like to see tension so thick you can't even cut it, come to my house when dad's trying to convince mom that the fake tree he bought is the answer to their Christmas depression forever - but mom's biting her lip and tongue as she tries to spread the 7,034 brand new branches apart because they've been packed tightly for shipping. Run for your artificial life dad.

I have no idea why someone thought that putting a tree (that belongs outside) in your living room and throwing random stuff on it would make memories and wonderful pictures for years to come.

I'm thinking of a word that rhymes with shmidiot.

Punta Cana Santa

Q: What's your opinion of the story of Saint Nicholas?

A: I had to ask dad who Saint Nicholas is. He said you must be really old because nobody calls SANTA CLAUS that anymore. Now first of all, by calling it a story, are you implying that Santa's existential reality hangs in the balance? If so, you might disclose way too much here. Tread carefully my great aunt. But if you're just wondering what I think about how Santa Claus came to be, I don't really care actually. As long as the chubby, bearded, present-giver lands a Barbie under my tree, he's all good. I don't have anything bad to say about him - he's a nice enough guy I guess. But he needs to lay off the cookies.

But dad on the other hand is really skeptical about men that ride around at the speed of light delivering presents to every kid on the planet.

He wonders how Santa changes clothes so fast when he's delivering toys to kids that live in the African deserts, for example. Don't the reindeer sweat bullets? That's animal cruelty.

Anyway, Dad says he'd like to know who pays Santa and why he works all year around making toys that say "made in not the north pole" and how he's been an old man since everyone's grandfather was a baby. Hmmm...maybe dad has a point. BUT...dad also thinks that I'm a princess from a far off land. So there you have it.

Anyway, did you know that Saint Nicholas is also called Nikolaos of Myra? He was a saint and Greek Bishop of Myra - and died in 373. Did you know him personally? That's a long time ago.

I'd like to meet the Mexican Santa someday - that would be funny I bet.

Order in the Court

Q: Is there order in the universe?

A: Well there is in mom's universe. And since our universe revolves around her, I would have to say yes. My mother is the epitome of order. In fact, I think I can speak for everyone that knows her and say that she's a tad organized. Let me exemplify: She lays in bed at night and can actually HEAR something out of place I think. Be it the basement, the yard, somebody else's yard, or a mis-placed pebble on planet Neptune. I bet we could quiz her as she stands in the middle of the Mojave Desert with tarantulas and scorpions threatening her very life and she could still ryhme off where my brother's 457th piece of Lego is that he lost in 2004.

To answer your question, there's order in 1 universe at least. Don't be surprised if the organizer comes knocking on your planet next.

Here's a funny commercial about a girl that would definitely succumb to tarantulas and scorpions. But I have no idea why the car is at the end...

Lingual Nerve Injury

Q: Do you like snow?

A: Why, I am so glad you asked. And I am thrilled to report that YES I LOVE snow; so much in fact, that I'd sit down any single day of the year and get a root canal just the same. Seeing the snow gives me the exact same pleasure. And when we have a blizzard and stuff - it's equal to the dentist hitting a major nerve and then I hit the ceiling in pain, dragging him around the room, but when I finally settle back in the dentist chair it's like heaven on earth. There's nothing better than Lingual Nerve Injury at the dentist office.

So yes, snow is for SURE totally awesome.

Here's a funny video about dentists:

Coats Are For Girls I Guess

Q: Why do boys not wear a jacket in the winter time?

A: I DON'T KNOW. And neither do my parents. And neither does anyone. If you do, by all means fill me in on your pearl of wisdom - I think you'd create world peace or something by letting the whole world know why boys don't wear jackets. It's not for lacking discipline. I think my dad would be rich if someone gave him $1,000 every time he said, "Get back in the house for the love of whoever in this strange universe and put your coat on. What are you thinking? WHAT - ARE - YOU - THINKING???" I can feel dad's pain because he usually throws his hands in the air because he's always in a rush. I know what that's like. Ever try to get to gymnastics when your brother's keep having to back into the house to get their jackets???

It's a simple request right? It shouldn't be that hard. Put your coat on. How do they even remember to go out the front door? Or get up in the morning? They certainly know how to get to the fridge on their own, or ask "What's for supper?" I swear if their heads weren't sewed on they'd be like, "Hey where's my head? I just noticed it missing and it's the second part of double lunch. I'm calling mom and dad - they'll bring my head to school when they bring my jacket."

What's even more weird is that they complain about the house being too cold in the winter time - even when they wear sweaters - but they'll run outside when it's minus 25 Celsius and act like they're in Punta Cana.To dad's proverbial question they answer, "WHAT??? It's not cold. I can hardly see my breath. Sheesh - what's the big deal? It's like sunny and everything." Great...late for gymnastics again.

If someone knows why boys are like that, tell Ellen D - she can get the word out.

Anywaaaaaay...whatever. This video basically reminds me of what the boys look like when they're telling dad why they forgot their coats:

Periodic Patticake

Q: What is the periodic table?

A: It's either a table that happens by every now and then, or something I use to render question-askers incapable of attending to or pursuing their usual avocations because they've been bonked on the head with it.

But if you're sincere, I just happen to know what it is because my brother Caleb is studying it right now. He says it's nothing but a bunch of useless letters and numbers together in a uniform arrangement such that they look like a table.

I heard him say that he actually wonders why teachers created such a mystifying puzzlement. It's an enigma, really. Like what's with the synthetic elements from 133 to 118? Anyway, I don't expect you to answer that. I bet you even looked up the word enigma in the dictionary by now, right?

If you really want to know what it is, click here and you'll find out.

And if you are still as bored as I am right now, watch these funny cats:

Race Horses and Linguine, or Linguistics, or WHATEVER

Q: How do you feel about tailgating?

A: Is tailgating one word? I wonder if you put a hyphen between tail and gating? If not, there should be one, because otherwise it could very well read like tailg ating or ta ilga ting. See how ridiculous they sound? There's a HUGE difference between how I feel about all 3. Take tailg ating for instance...you pretty much have to put an awkward pause in there that's just not normal. Try it, say it. See? It's awkward - like you're trying to impress a Chinese person with an impossible Mandarin sound that North Americans cannot make. It can also sound like you're trying to say tailgating but you're swallowing chocolate pudding in the middle of it. Anything ending in ilg is just plain insane anyway. Now take ta ilga ting for instance...that's a down-right train wreck in the English language. W ho i nthe irri ght mi nd ta lksl iket hat? There aren't too many things that annoy me, but trying to read or say ta ilga ting makes me want to punch a kitten or something.

Moving on to the word tailgating. I feel like apologizing to the kitten, but I'm still annoyed. Who sat down and decided to put tail and gating together without a hyphen? I'd love to hear what Billy Hickox has to say about this. He's a linguist of sorts. But what the heck does that mean in its own right? Anyway, picture the guy that formed the two words together. When I picture him, he's been forming words all day and has go to the bathroom the same way that race horses do after a long race; now pretend he's the horse and he's nearly losing his bladder when someone hands him a piece of paper and says, "what would you do with these two words?" I'm almost positive he'd just stick 'em together. Don't you think? That's the only logical explanation for it.

But I think you meant how do I feel about the practice of driving on a road too close to the vehicle in front, at a distance which does not guarantee that stopping to avoid collision is possible. It's like when mom and dad get in an argument. Mom's just booting it down the highway, making valid points and valid arguments, totally in control of things. But dad's like WAY behind her and can't even move the car fast enough, but all of a sudden, mom slows down only to take a breath just at the point when dad's getting frustrated because he's losing ground but gives it one last go and he gets RIGHT up on mom, who makes the same hand gesture that people do when someone's tailgating them. I'm not sure what it means, but dad usually gets the point. So he slows down even more so mom can speed away, winning the race.

At any rate, I don't like tailgaters. And I really HATE ta ilga ting.

Here's a video about aggressive drivers:

And here's a funny one about flashlight batteries:

Crustaceans, Costs, Coins, and Cats

Q: Why does it cost $181,757 per hour for Barack Obama to travel on Air Force One?

A: Maybe it's the shrimp they serve on the plane. Aside from that, I couldn't tell you. As perplexing as that is, what's even moreso is that you somehow know the amount. Like, right down to the dollar. I had a hard enough time with my homework tonight trying to figure out what coins make up $0.65. And you want me to tell you something about 181,757??? Like for real??...okay, I know you were dropped on your head.

But JFTR: With Obama's recent ten-day trip to India, Indonesia, South Korea and Japan (48 hours of flight time logged), US taxpayers would have to cough up $8.7 Million for Air Force One.

Why doesn't he just take a cab or something? Or stop eating shrimp. My dad eats shrimp and they are disGUSTING. I hope he's not paying that much to drive around in his precious Honda. He could very well be driving my education around...

Anyway, here's a random angry cat that coincidentally reminds me of mom when I drink her Pepsi without asking her...

Bomb's Away!

Q: Why is there a bomb in your hand?

A: Why, that's not a bomb, silly. It's a bowling ball-shaped flower pot filled with an orange Gerbera flower. It's actually a genus of ornamental plants from the sunflower family (Asteraceae). Gerbera species bear a large capitulum with striking, two-lipped ray florets in yellow, orange, white, pink or red colours. The capitulum, which has the appearance of a single flower, is actually composed of hundreds of individual flowers (wikipedia).

I am shocked that you would assume such a thing. Is there a bomb in your hand? You should know I am all about flowers. Didn't you notice my shirt? I suppose that looks like a bomb, too? For heaven's sake, run for cover when you see the next flower bed you walk by.

KABOOM!

Unidentified

Q: What do you want to be when you grow up?

A: That's an easy one "anonymous". I am aspiring to be someone who leaves their name because it's polite. I can't imagine aspiring to be anonymous. Do you go to some kind of self help group for that? Well you should. See, I assumed that you don't belong to such a group because you'd at least say you are "unknown, but not by choice". Holy cow! Get a life! The antonym for anonymous, by the way, is "known", "named", or "identified". Next time, can you PLEASE identify yourself (i.e. name yourself) to make yourself known!

(insert your own hissy fit here)

Back to your question. I consider myself grown up already. So really, all that's left for me to do is purchase a town house in Punta Cana, Dominican Republic and collect sea shells everyday. Don't knock it until you try it, anonymous.

This guy lives in the Dominican. I'm going to tell my dad to use that deodorant:

I'm Like Noooo Way!

Q: Why can kids hardly wait to be teenagers?

A: I have no freakin' clue. Here's why. Just today my favorite cousin Lauren (she's 13) came into her house with 3 other friends. Herein lies their dialogue:

Door opens..."...and I was like no way, and she said, 'yeah-way', and I said, 'na-ah', and she was all like, 'totally', and I was like 'as if', and she said, 'yeah girl', and I said, "LOL", and she said, "I know, right!", and I said, 'whatever.' Imagine! I'm like "nooooooo way!"

How drole is that? If hormones make people talk in incomplete sentences, then I'll pass go and collect my $200, thanks. It took everything in me to not say, "You insignificant psychological pieces of inginuity, how can you all be so consecutive in your mental capacity???" GOOD GRIEF, CHARLIE BROWN!!!

Now, I really like Lauren, but it's like she's morphing into an alien that doesn't speak my lingo anymore. But anyway, tough shell here people.

I think most kids really want to be teenager just because it means you can watch PG-13 movies. But whatever the reason...for the sake of Pete, get those marbles out of your mouth!!

Watch the girl in this video for example...she might be my age, and she sounds just like Lauren and her friends - but I'll pay anyone $5 if they can tell me what she says:

Is Your Glass Half Full or Half Empty?

Q: Is the glass half full or half empty?

A: It really depends on what kind of antidepressants you are on. My dad says red wine has the same effect. Because the more wine you drink, the more full the "glass" is because your outlook on life is more positive. But mom says dad's got it all wrong - the more you drink, the more empty your glass gets, but dad says that's not a bad thing because there's always enough wine to fill the cup back up, and thus you can always have a positive outlook on life. But mom says when you have to keep filling your glass up, you must not have a very fulfilling life. But dad says wine helps fill up one's "cup" and now I don't know what the heck either of them are talking about. Come to think of it, mom doesn't drink wine at all. And god love her, she tries really really hard, but the 'ole "glass" could use a fill up sometimes, dad says...know what I'm sayin'?

Anyway, let me set the record straight for these 2 icky love birds. Few drinks are expected to take up half of the glass, really. If one is expecting a normal drink, one is expecting a full drink. If one sees the drink at half capacity and declares it to be half full, they are making the implicit admission that it is half more than what they expected or are currently imagining. In other words, half full is only half full when compared to a glass that is completely empty. This "completely empty" alternative is what one has in mind when they declare a drink to be half full.

Soooooo, the moral of the story is: just take an antidpressant and your glass will never be completely empty.

Hiccup.